


I Want to Be in Like (All the Time)

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (possibly?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Denial, F/F, Gender Issues, Homophobia, Internet Commenters are their own warning, Make Up, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, alternate universe - youtuber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: “Who are you, Sansa, behind all the make up and the catchphrases?” she asks, a twinge of desperation in her voice. “You're my big sister, and I feel like I barely fucking know you. What is it you need so much to hide?”





	I Want to Be in Like (All the Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "No Tears Left to Cry", by Ariana Grande (...sort of). This is a very light M really, and only for the final scene, but just in case.

“So, that's all for tonight cubs, and if you enjoyed this video be sure to like and subscribe–”

“Sansa, it's two in the fucking morning, are you still filming?”

She turns and rolls her chair round, smudging her mascara with how she winces at the added light. _Great, there's one more bleep for the edit._ “Arya,” she says, “have you ever heard of knocking?”

“Have you ever heard of letting the rest of us get a decent night's sleep?”

“Filming time is my time!”

Arya simply scoffs and helps herself in, crashing on Sansa's bed with a _thud_. “'Ello, you lot,” she waves to the camera. “This one needs to film at all hours of the night, so I'm just gonna sleep here from now on. Night!” She buries her head in Sansa's pillows with a mock-snore, and Sansa grabs a merchandised cushion off her desk to throw it at her.

“ _As I was saying,_ ” she returns to the camera, “you too can get the river nymph look if you go to–”

“You can get any fucking look you feel like if you try hard enough,” Arya yawns and raises her arms above her head, showing herself off, her messy pixie cut and unshaved pits. Sansa huffs. “But why would you bother?”

“And who are you to be judging my audience, Arya?” Sansa snaps at her, and Arya's eyes finally open.

“I'm not judging anybody,” she says with a fierce look that tells Sansa she's not quite being honest. She sighs and gets up. “Alright, someone's not gonna let me sleep here either.” She walks up behind Sansa and presses a brief, sisterly kiss against her cheek. Sansa freezes. “Look after yourself you lot. Fill up my sister's piggy bank, but don't let her rip you off either.”

Sansa smacks her hands across Arya's chest, then blushes when she realises her sister isn't wearing a bra. Arya just cackles as she leaves the room, and Sansa sighs, hoping the foundation on her will distract from her turning pink. Or at least, she can pass it off as fashion.

As she tries to finish her little outro, tries to remember the script, a smile tugs at her lips really against her will. After all, whenever Arya pokes her nose in, her hits always go up like twenty per cent.

* * *

_lol, arya is cool, sansa should give her a makeover sometime, that'd be funny_

_sansa, you are always so beautiful and amazing!!!! AND I LOVE YOUR SISTER!!!!!!!!_

_ARYA IS THE BEST_

* * *

Her audience love Arya, always have. Sansa's not sure she understands why; you'd think people who watch a beauty youtuber wouldn't have much time for a girl who's brain goes right to houses when you say the word foundation, but Sansa assumes they must have good on screen chemistry – the whole sisterly rivalry thing, you know, it's funny.

Sansa helps mum fix breakfast while her younger siblings are all rushing off to school; she doesn't have class until the afternoon (although she keeps wondering if it's still worth going, given how much she's making online). Arya looks cute in her uniform, in an aggressively deliquent way, and halfway through Sansa gets interrupted by a knock on the door and a postie come to deliver her a package.

He looks not much older than her, and gets a look of puzzled recognition when she answers – maybe he has a little sister who's a fan or something, she doesn't know. Sansa signs the package efficiently (she's just now getting to the stage where she has to learn how to sign an autograph, although most people these days prefer a selfie), knowing what it is. Make up companies are always sending her free stuff to try; she probably couldn't do her job if they didn't.

“Cosmetic tycoons still trying to buy your love, huh?”

Sansa rolls her eyes at the sound of Arya's voice. _Fuck off,_ she'd say, but it's not exactly on brand for her. “Don't you have playgrounds to torment?” she asks.

Arya snorts as she throws her backpack over her shoulder, having barely even bothered to comb her hair; she's like that, Arya. “Who knows,” she says, “maybe one day they'll send you enough you can make a whole extra you out of it.”

For some reason, that annoys Sansa more than it should do. “Oh, like your pseudo-lesbian bad girl I-don't-care-about-hair-and-clothes thing is any less an act!” she shouts as Arya walks out the door, but if she can hear she ignores it, leaving Sansa to simply huff impotently at her retreating back and the much-disdained school skirt she has long since outgrown. Then, after she goes to help Mum get Bran and Rickon into the car, she retreats to her bathroom and sets about her usual routine.

* * *

_arya is sooo lucky, i wish i had a sista like sansa, why isnt she nicer_

_sansa stark shoud suck my dick_

_why does sansa keep letting her dyke sister ruin her videos, wtf_

* * *

“What you up to?”

Sansa jumps a mile when she hears the voice over her shoulder; christ, hasn't she ever heard of knocking? “Arya!” she protests, hurriedly trying to minimise the window. “Are you trying to murder me for the inheritance money?”

Arya rolls her eyes, grabbing the mouse out of Sansa's hand. “This youtube thing is no good for you; your nerves have been shot ever since.” Sansa tries to protest, but Arya's eyes are already scrolling down the screen. She pulls a face. “Yikes,” she says. “Is this really the thought of thing people say to you?”

“Most people are lovely,” Sansa insists, always quick to defend her fans, although she thinks the people who leave nasty comments aren't fans anyway. “And you shouldn't read that.” Annoying as Arya can be, she's still Sansa's little sister; she feels the urge to protect her.

“Why? Are they being mean about me too?” After a few more comments, Arya gets it. “Oh. They all think I'm gay.” She rolls her eyes. “What a shock.”

Sansa is taken aback at that. “Doesn't it bother you?” she asks, confused.

“...Why should it?” Arya asks, and Sansa's jaw drops open. She doesn't really know how to answer that.

“Well, I'm not doing this just for you,” she says snootily, instinctively on edge. “A lot of my fans are LGBT, you know, I don't want them to think I endorse homophobia in the comment section.” Of course, there are far too many these days for her to possibly catch all of them, but she feels she ought to try.

Arya nods affirmatively, perching on the end of Sansa's bed. “Oh no, absolutely, you're totes doing the right thing here,” she says, and Sansa frowns. It's not like Arya to express approval of anything she does at all. “I don't want random assholes dropping slurs either. But like, I don't particularly care if they think I, specifically, am gay. I've been called a lot worse.”

It always puzzles Sansa, how Arya can seem to immune to the nastiness she encounters just from being Sansa Stark's sister. Sansa herself likes to think she's built up some resistance after having been the internet's new darling for the past two years, but every once in awhile someone will say something that just _gets_ to her.

“...You not though, right?” she asks.

Arya stops to think it over, as if she genuinely can't remember. “I mean, not so far,” she says dryly. “You never know though.”

Sansa sighs in irritation. It's always bothered her that Arya is so casual about these things, although she doesn't know _why_. “I think Mum thinks you are,” she snaps, which she isn't really sure of, and is only vaguely relevant.

“Mum thinks we're all gay,” Arya snorts. “Really, she was just so startled when she caught Robb sucking Theon's cock, now she's overcorrected.” Sansa's not sure whether to blush or laugh. She does remember that whole drama, although it worked out in the end – really, Mum was far more disturbed by the 'Theon' aspect than the 'cock' aspect. After a pause, Arya continues. “But like, it doesn't matter,” Arya says quickly. “C'mon, you know Mum. You think she'd let anyone fuck with us, just if we fancied other girls? Yeah, fat chance.”

Sansa swallows hard, not sure how to reply. Yes, of course Mum and Dad wouldn't care if either of them was a lesbian – they handled Robb pretty well after all – but...

“Arya, could you please just go?” she asked. “I was working; my real fans don't want to be exposed to this crap anymore than I do. I ought to delete it all.”

“...Fans.” And Sansa gives an irritated sigh. Yes, fans; that word has been part of the vernacular for decades now, Arya shouldn't sound so confused by it. “Sansa, do you really think these people know you?”

Sansa, trying hard to focus on the screen, can't help but spin around. “Why not?” she asks quietly, while Arya stares on skeptically. “They know me as well as anyone else.”

“...Right.” Arya looks like she could say something more, but she's not going to. Thank god. “Well, I'm going to bed. I've got school tomorrow. Take care of yourself, Sans,” she says, and Sansa tells herself she doesn't need the advice.

She skims through the comments, trying not to let the nasty ones, and worse still, the not-quite nasty, but still not nice, ones get through her skin, but by the time she crawls into bed she still feels exhausted, sad, and strangely guilty.

* * *

_More Arya please?! Lol, I'm sorry, I don't mean to nag – I just really love the relationship you two have. It's so great that you have such different opinions on how to express your femininity, and yet you're still so close! I wish more girls were like this._

_arya would look so good in red lipstick tho_

* * *

“I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“I just hit two hundred and fifty thousand subscribers!” Sansa protests, pulling her sponge off Arya's face. “C'mon, it's a treat for the fans. I promise you can go roll in mud like a pig as soon as I stop filming.”

Arya snorts. “That'd be a different type of internet video, I think.”

Sansa blushes. “Keep your mouth shut. I have to put lipstick on you at some point.”

Arya rolls her eyes and obeys, letting Sansa smear primer across her cheeks. So much so, it kind of annoys Sansa. “Why aren't you talking?”

“You just told me not to!”

“It's an internet video!” Sansa says, because she's never known Arya to do anything she's told. “There's not much point to it if neither of us talk.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Seems like more work than necessary, your job.”

Sansa huffs and keeps applying make up. She'll cut that bit out in the final edit. She makes jokes for the camera and Arya teases her back, grumbling about being in this position all the while, the both of them playing up the cute bickering sisters for all to see. Sansa turns Arya's cheeks pink and her lips ruby red, and she smudges mascara across her cheek with an uncharacteristically unsteady hand, but that's quickly fixed with a baby wipe or too.

“Ta-da!” Sansa announces when she's done, and Arya stares in the mirror.

“I look like a medieval prostitute.” Sansa huffs in irritation. Arya turns to her with a most charming grin, and Sansa's not sure if it's meant for her, or the camera. “But like, the fancy expensive kind. Definitely had at least one king's bastard who became Duke of Wherever.”

The thing is, Sansa thinks once she's turned the camera off and Arya disappears to wash it all away, she's sure her commenters will all tell her Arya looked gorgeous, that she did an amazing job. And she did. But Sansa's still not quite satisfied with her work, because Arya didn't look like _Arya_. She looked like Sansa had built her own special Arya doll, and she's not sure what to think about that.

* * *

_Arya has been in a lot of videos lately, hasn't she?_

* * *

It's Saturday, and Sansa has a whole video she has planned today; one of those big, elaborate looks even she'd only bother with for a special occasion (which videos count as, she guesses). At the moment, though, it's barely ten in the morning, and so she's still slouching into the kitchen in her pink kitten pyjamas when she sees Arya reading the paper. Arya is already dressed in yoga pants, converse and a long t-shirt, which is about as close as Arya comes to getting dressed up. “You going somewhere?” asks Sansa as she grabs an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Yeah. Gendry asked me to play football with him and his mates.”

Ah, of course. Gendry, Arya's best friend and possible future boyfriend, once she's old enough the age gap no longer seems too much. He's a nice boy, if what Jane Austen would have called common; Sansa ought to like him more than she does. “You not afraid they'll mistake you for the ball?” she teases.

“Fuck off,” Arya mutters, but there's none of the conviction in it there usually is. Sansa frowns. Struck by an uncharacteristic wave of affection, she comes up behind and gives Arya a brief, one-armed hug.

“Hey, what's the matter?” she asks, not waiting for a reply. “Our video did amazing, you know,” she says. “All my fans say I should make you over more. Or let you make me over. You'd love that, wouldn't you?”

Arya snorts, than pauses. “There's fanfic of us, you know that, right?'

Sansa stops, then jumps back. “ _What_?!”

Arya turns around to look at her, eyebrows raised. Sansa hurriedly looks around to make sure none of the rest of their family are listening; Dad already worries that some stalker is going to track her down someday, he doesn't need to know about this. “You shouldn't be so surprised,” Arya points out. “It's the internet, that's what they do. It'd have happened much earlier if we were boys.”

Sansa's face turns red just as her heart leaps up in her throat. She knows Arya has a point, but she's not willing to admit it just yet. “Wait, do you mean – _that_ kind of fanfic?” Arya nods. “But we're sisters! You're seventeen! Who even writes that?”

“Other seventeen year olds?” Arya suggests, which – Sansa has no idea whether or not that's true. She's left to stutter.

“I-I'll do something about this, I'll get rid of it–”

“What exactly do you think you can _do_?!” Sansa jumps. Arya is always sounding annoyed at her, but that's just their thing, their vibe, she never really means it – she's always thought Arya rather had fun teasing her. But for the first time, she sees Arya's frustration poke through. “You brought this on us, Sansa, you put us out there, you made us public property for anyone to take and change into whatever they wanted...”

It was never meant to be like that. It was meant to just be a hobby, something fun and cute to distract her on lonely, boring nights. And then, the more she did it, the more people wanted her to. They wanted her. They wanted her to be sweet and funny and good and pure, to be everything they wanted to be, and not to have any secrets...

Sansa gulps. _Are you mad at me?_ she wants to ask, but the answer is obvious and she's too proud for it anyone. “If you asked me not to put you in the videos, I wouldn't have.” None of the rest of her family have ever been in them, after all. Only Arya. Arya is special.

Arya cocks her head to the side, and Sansa's not sure whether she looks more angry or sad. Neither reassures her. “Well, that's your world isn't it?” she asks. “I wanted to be at least part of it.”

Unwittingly, Sansa finds tears forming in her ears. Unwittingly she blinks them away, grateful she hasn't put on her mascara yet. Arya sighs and throws more things into her backpack. “I should go. Gendry's waiting for me.”

Sansa lets her, feeling no urge to grab the last word for once, but before she walks out Arya stops in the doorway. “Who are you, Sansa, behind all the make up and the catchphrases?” she asks, a twinge of desperation in her voice. “You're my big sister, and I feel like I barely fucking know you. What is it you need so much to hide?”

Once she's gone, Sansa wipes the tears off her face. Arya's just being Arya; she'll be back in the evening, muddy and exhausted, and they'll act like it was just another of their sisterly squabbles. Sansa will make herself back up again, and Arya will never know the difference.

* * *

_Sansa gasped as she felt herself pushed up against the dresser. “Please, Arya, this is–”_

_A finger on her lips silenced her. “I know what you're going to say,” Arya whispered. “So don't say it.”_

_And without another word, she fell to her knees._

* * *

Sansa slams her laptop shut in a panic. She shouldn't have looked. It was just morbid curiosity, while Arya was out and the rest of her family are all buzzing about down stairs – she hasn't even gotten dressed yet, her hair looks like a red bird's nest. She must look a mess, and now she feels like one too.

_It doesn't mean anything. It's just fanfic. Like Arya said, it would have happened earlier if..._ Sansa swallows. If it doesn't mean anything, why is she so terrified?

She could go online and shout at her fans, at anyone who would dare say such terrible, libellous things about her and her sister, but – what would it do? Would it actually stop anyone? Or would it just tell them that she is not the person they think she is?

Sansa wants to be that person though – that's why she got as fair in as she did. She made herself up in their eyes and they believed her, they believed she was everything she wanted to be, as whole and smart and pretty and pure, that she wouldn't think... things...

But Arya, then Arya started coming into her videos, and Arya always drags her down to earth.

Sansa closes her eyes, and she can imagine Arya right now, wet and muddy on the soccer field, facing down some man twice her size but never showing an inch of weakness. She's like that, Arya. It doesn't matter how outgunned she is, she'd never let anything change her.

She groans and buries her head in her pillows, still thinking about her little sister, her think dark hair and long jaw and stubborn refusal to shave and everything that makes her _Arya,_ that fucking self-confidence she has that Sansa knows is sexier than anything else in the world.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees herself from the outside. She realises she has slid a hand inside her pyjama bottoms, is right on the cusp of rubbing herself, but cannot technically be said to have done so yet. She's writhing on her sheets, on the edge of panting, she might be about to touch herself and she's still – _fuck_ – thinking about her sister.

Sansa waits on the precipice, a breath away from learning the truth about herself, from confronting the very think she has fought so hard to make not possibly true.

But at the very least, nobody's looking.

 


End file.
